


A Barely Functioning Adult's Guide to Beekeeping

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Bees, Cas and Bees, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Civil Engineer Dean, College, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Needs to Remove Head From Ass, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Domestic Fluff, Engineering, English major Cas, First Kiss, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lebanon Kansas (Supernatural), Love Confessions, The Impala (Supernatural), content warning: mentions of abuse and alcholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Dean Winchester and Cas Devereaux, seniors, are roommates and best friends. Cas is the president of the beekeeping club, and he eventually cajoles Dean into coming to a couple meetings. Meanwhile, Dean is struggling with his relationship with his estranged father, whether or not he’ll get to graduate, and the fact that he’s maybe, kinda-sorta, almost definitely in love with Cas.Pair those things with his lack of confidence, a sudden road trip home to Kansas, a nosy creative writing professor, and the fact that he might be drinking too much—Dean’s a wreck who believes he has no future.But he might be wrong.(teen warning for mentions of alcohol, abuse, and sex. and some swearing.)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 115





	1. in which we meet the barely functioning adult

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to my pals over on the profound bond server for answering the million billion questions I had while writing this. y'all are dope. special kudos to tiamatv (https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv) for coming up with Cas's fancy-ass last name (check her out! her writing is so good!). if you're 18+ and wanna join us in the fun, here's a link! https://discord.gg/profoundbond
> 
> special thanks also to my university for having a beekeeping club and giving me this idea that quickly spiraled out of control :)

“Dude, do you ever sleep?” Dean sat up and glared at Cas, who had just turned the lights on. It was five am, it was a Saturday, and Cas had been doing shit like this since they were freshmen. It was now the fall of their senior year—which meant that Dean hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in three years.

He had thought that, when they moved from a crappy dorm room to a slightly less crappy apartment, he could get woken up less, but he just fell asleep on the couch more, and now he was groggily staring at a bed-headed, bespectacled, yawning Cas in fuzzy bee socks, black and yellow plaid pajama pants, and an oversized sweatshirt with “Lighton University Beekeeping Club” emblazoned across the front.

He rolled his eyes and sat up properly, “Seriously, man. When do you…where do you get all this energy?”

“Coffee,” Cas replied brightly, scooping in grounds, pouring water, and starting the coffeemaker before pulling one of his ridiculous thrift store mugs (this one had birds painted on it) out of the cabinet.

“Well, when it’s ready, get me some, okay? No way I’m going back to sleep now.”

“It’s your fault for falling asleep on the couch.”

“I had a lot of assignments to catch up on, okay?” Dean threw the pillow he had been leaning on across the room.

“It’s only the second week of classes.” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“And?” Dean said, his tone making it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, “I still had a lot of work. Finished, uh…” He opened his laptop, “Most of it. Crap.”

“What?”

“Forgot to do my first creative writing assignment.” Dean slapped his forehead with his palm, “Ugh. Guess I’ll email the professor.” Dean hadn’t wanted to take creative writing, but he needed an elective and it seemed easy enough. God knew all his other classes were bears.

A solid seventy-five percent of the reason Dean had gone to college was peer pressure. His brother Sam was a bonafide genius, and there was a whole stereotype about people who dropped out of high school. So Dean had taken the GED, applied to Lighton’s civil engineering program, and gotten his act enough together to attend. The loans were bitches, but he had gotten a few hardship scholarships and worked at an auto shop to save up dough for whatever was going to happen at the end of this year.

Dean tried not to think about the end of this year.

Cas, delightful and intelligent and soft-spoken and funny English major that he was, would probably go get his doctorate in Even More English and become incredibly well-known. Sam, who was technically supposed to be a freshman this year, was already a sophomore in college because he’d skipped second grade, back when their parents had still been together.

Some parents they had been.

But Sam was pre-law at a much fancier university with a boatload of merit scholarships, and he was going to go off into the world and do amazing things and save lives and shit, and Dean was, at this rate, going to be laying underneath cars for the rest of his days until he died or was dumb enough to get killed.

Joy of joys.

But before he could approach his dazzling future as a completely unimportant person, he needed to pass creative writing, and since every assignment was worth ten percent of the grade….

Dean hit his head again, and would have done it more, if Cas had not handed him a mug of coffee (this mug had…..a very ugly Las Vegas skyline on it?) and sat down in the worn armchair next to the couch.

“Why are you up so early, anyways?” Dean asked, “It’s Saturday. Isn’t five am still a bit more peaky than usual?”

“The bees need me,” Cas said, as if that explained it, and of course it did. It completely tracked that rough-and-tumble Dean Winchester, the king of bad luck, old cars, rock music, and not really having parents would be paired with a soft-spoken beekeeping English nerd who was minoring in Shakespeare, for christ’s sake.

It also tracked that Dean was from Middle of Nowhere, USA (also known as Kansas) and Cas was from New York.

Albany, so not New York City, but still.

“When do the bees every not need you?” Dean sighed, flopping back down and almost spilling coffee all down his front, “I didn’t realize you and the bees were married.”

“Oh, lay off.” But Cas was smiling.

Dean had missed this, over the summer. Cas had gotten some internship in Chicago, and so Dean had spent the two and a half months they were apart lamenting that he didn’t have anyone to try new pancake recipes on, anyone to bother, or anyone to force to watch Star Wars with him. Sam had come to visit a few times, but he had mostly been off at some internship program.

Of course, Dean couldn’t begrudge his brother too much. Dean himself had chosen to drop out of high school to take care of him when their dad dipped. The next year, their mom resurfaced with a wealthy boyfriend and a new outlook on life, and they had done a good enough job of nurturing Sam and encouraging Dean to go make something of himself. To be honest, Dean wasn’t sure his mother had, well, mothering in her, but he had been proven wrong.

“What are you doing today?” Cas asked, breaking Dean out of his revere.

“Uh….got work in the afternoon. Prolly gonna finish up these assignments this morning….damn calculus. And I have to email Dr. Singer now, too….about that creative writing thing.”

“What’s the determination to get your work done before tomorrow?”

“Why so curious?”

“Do you want to go out or something?”

Dean laughed, “Do you think I have the money to go out? Nah, I was hoping to drink some beers and stay up as late as I wanted and have one day with no cares in the world this week…..we have our first test next week in Geospatial Analysis and I’m so _screwed_.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Cas said softly.

“Nope, it’s worse than you think.”

Dean made it a point not to gripe too much about his academics—Cas knew that his grades weren’t great, but what Cas didn’t know was that after last semester, Dean was on probation. He had to get at least a C+ in all his classes or be forced to leave.

So he couldn’t screw this up.

Even if half the time, he knew fuck-all about what he was doing.

It wasn’t that Dean couldn’t solve problems—for all he complained about math, he was surprisingly (to other people) good at it. He could fit it all together, like a puzzle. The problem was time management, and the fact that he _maybe_ needed a therapist from his fucked-up childhood, but couldn’t afford one, and the fact that he should _maybe_ drink less alcohol.

There was just too much noise in his own head.

“Still,” Cas said confidently, “You can do it. You always do.”

“Always my ray of sunshine.”

“I try.” Cas grinned at him again, before standing up, “Gonna go get ready.” About ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom in jeans, a ratty pair of black high-tops, and the same sweatshirt, his dark hair marginally more organized and his glasses now fully pushed up his nose.

“Please,” Dean said, “Tell me you put on a clean t-shirt and deodorant under that sweatshirt.”

“I’m not a slob!”

“Hm. Your bathroom habits would beg to differ.”

Cas frowned, “See you tonight, Dean.”

Dean knew he wasn’t annoyed, though, because he knew Cas’s teasing voice, and the way one corner of his mouth would slightly quirk up when he didn’t totally mean what he was saying. He knew these things because he knew Cas better than anyone, maybe even himself.

Because, for better or for worse, he was in love with Cas.

Yet another thing to add to the list of noise in his brain.


	2. in which dean does dumb things

Dean had gotten into cars thanks to his dad.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

For Dean’s sixteenth birthday, his dad had done something unprecedented and remembered his birthday—and given him a car. It was a 1967 Chevy Impala, and it was beat up beyond reason, but Dean had worked hard to get it to shine, gleam, and run like a champ. One of the last things his dad did two years later when Dean was eighteen, before he left them for dead, was give him the title.

At first, when he showed up at Turner’s Auto Shop, Rufus Turner had been loath to hire a scrappy nineteen-year-old dropout-turned-college-student, but once Dean told him about the Impala, he was beyond ready to hire him. There was something about the hours spent working on the cars that gave Dean much-needed time to think, and today was no exception, because there was a lot on his mind, like whether or not he was gonna fail that test, if there were any quizzes he was forgetting to study for, when Dr. Singer would reply to his email….

Cas had spent most of sophomore year begging Dean to use a planner, going so far as to give Dean one. Cas stopped when Dean threw the planner at his head, narrowly missing but slightly denting the wall. That was when Dean had taught Cas how to use wall spackle so they wouldn’t be forced to pay a fee to the university.

Good times.

Dean didn’t have many friends—there were a few guys in the civil engineering program he got along with, and there was Cas, but, to be honest, he didn’t have a lot of time. In the spring of freshman year, he had become a temporary Casanova and had a string of mostly lame girlfriends, but had given up dating when it took up too much of his time.

(And the whole Cas thing. Yeah. That. Talk about a midlife crisis. Maybe twenty, how old Dean was when he realized the whole Cas thing, was a bit young to have a midlife crisis…but if he only lived to see forty, it wouldn’t surprise him.)

And he had a good banter with the other folks at Turner’s, even though most of them were fifty or older.

Cas, on the other hand, had a gaggle of friends. There were his beekeeping pals, his friends from the Latin and Antiquities Society, the other seniors in his major (his “cohort,” he called them), and, well…everyone. Any time he and Cas were on campus together, Cas spent a great deal of time waving at people. No one really waved at Dean. That was alright.

When Dean got home from work, after a few terse conversations with Rufus and the others, Cas wasn’t back yet still, so he shot his roommate a text and threw on some clean clothes.

A few minutes later, he had thrown himself on the couch to check his email when he heard the door open.

“Sorry,” Cas said, “I stopped by the library to do some homework, lost track of time, went to the store….but I’m back now….is that where my Latin and Antiquities shirt went?”

Dean looked down at his torso, frowning, “Oops. Must have accidentally stolen it when we last did laundry.”

“It’s no problem.” Cas opened the fridge, starting to put away groceries, “How was work?”

“Uh…it was work?” Dean sighed, trying to rub a grease mark off his arm, “No cars fell on me.”

“Did you finish your homework this morning?”

“Uh…sorta.”

“Dean."

“What?”

“You should focus on your work.” Cas shut the fridge.

“Do you think I’m not _trying_?” Dean sighed, slamming the textbook he had started leafing through shut.

“No, Dean, you just…” Cas sighed, “I know there’s a lot going on with you, so, uh….just wanted to make sure you kept up.”

Dean laughed—it wasn’t a real laugh—and sighed again, more vehemently, “Yeah, there’s a lot going on.”

“Is something bothering you?” Now Cas was reheating something in the microwave.

“Nah.” Dean wondered if he should come clean to Cas about his probation.

He didn’t.

However, the next morning, when he woke up lying on the floor in front of the couch, with a horrible headache, eight beer bottles and an empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, and a very concerned Cas trying to sit him up, he immediately blurted out, "I'm on probation.”

And then threw up all over his roommate.

*****

After being forced to nap (and a shower), Dean stumbled back into the living room, where Cas was sprawled out in the armchair, reading a book. It was clearly pouring rain and thundering loudly. Dean flopped onto the couch as the lightening crackled.

Cas looked up, “How are you?”

Dean rubbed his head, “Fine.”

“That’s not true.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Cas put the book down, facing him, “Admit that you’re struggling. You’ve never been good at that.”

“I’m not struggling, I’m just—“

“Going through a rough patch? Dean, your whole life has basically been a rough patch.”

“Well, you don’t have to rub it in.”

Cas’s voice softened, “I’m not trying to. But….it’s okay to ask for help. You need an outlet.”

“I have one.”

“Something besides cars.”

“Like?”

Cas smiled, and Dean knew right then that, whatever Cas suggested, even if it was nuts and he hated it, he would agree.

“Bees.”


	3. in which we meet the bees and dean gets a second chance

“I’m sorry I puked on you.”

It was Sunday night now, and they were cleaning up from dinner. Dean had made them tacos—Cas had tried to help, but he wasn’t a great cook and nearly chopped off his thumb, so Dean had relegated him to watching.

“It’s no problem.” Cas shrugged, passing a soapy dish to Dean for him to rinse, “There are worse people that could puke on me.”

“But also…no one could puke on you?”

“Fair. So, bees.”

“Bees.” Dean sighed, “What do you guys do at beekeeping club?”

“Uh….we check on the bees. Harvest honey, sometimes. Tend to the flowers we’ve planted around them. Talk about bees?”

“Castiel Devereaux, you are the biggest dork on the planet.” Dean shoved Cas slightly.

“Speak for yourself, earthling.”

“There’s a difference between being a dork and being a geek. Get it right.”

Dean had to admit to himself, though, as he lay in better later, trying to sleep, that maybe Cas might be onto something. Do something out of his comfort zone. Couldn’t be too bad, right?

_*****_

“Mr. Winchester, I know you have a bit of trouble with…academics,” Dr. Singer said, “I can see your transcript.”

“Yes,” Dean sighed, “I’m aware that I’m on probation. And I’m doing everything I can to keep my grades up.”

“Like missing my assignments?”

Dean looked at him, “I didn’t purposely miss the assignment, I just….”

“You just what?” But Dr. Singer had softened, and now he was looking at Dean with something like….concern?

Dean swallowed, “I’m just…ugh, if you had asked me this on Friday, professor, I wouldn’t have answered you. But yesterday I puked on my roommate and now he’s forcing me to go to beekeeping club with him? Something about letting myself open up—“

“Your roommate wouldn’t happen to be Castiel, would it?”

“The one and only.” Dean fought back a grin, “We’ve been roommates since freshman year. Well, we’re really apartment-mates now. But yeah, that’s him. Anyways…he says I need to be more vulnerable or whatever? I guess there’s just a lot on my mind.”

“Well, I have an idea then.”

“What’s that, sir?”

Dr. Singer steepled his fingers, “If you turn in last week’s assignment by Wednesday, I won’t count it as late, under two conditions. One, you turn in all the other assignments on time. Two, I’m changing the assignment. I want you to write about yourself.”

*****

As he stomped across campus to the field where Cas’s club met, Dean alternated between fuming and being grateful. On the one hand, he was going to get full credit, as long as he did the assignment. On the other hand…. _the assignment_.

And how did Dr. Singer know Cas, outside of the obvious English department stuff?

These thoughts were pushed out of his brain as he saw Cas standing next to the massive lion statue in the middle of the quad (go Lighton Lions! Dean had never been to a football game. Or any sport game), waving at him.

“How goes it?” Dean shouted, “Long time no see!”

“You saw me this morning. We live together.”

“That’s why it’s called a joke.” Dean lowered his voice as he neared Cas, “How was your day?”

“Not bad. Working on a project for poetry workshop, I think…”

“You think what?”

Cas reddened slightly, “I think it’ll be good.”

“Of course it will be. You’re the one writing it.” Dean paused, “Your….poetry workshop professor wouldn’t happen to be Dr. Singer, would it?”

Cas shrugged, “Maybe.”

“He’s my creative writing 101 professor. Cool guy. Letting me turn the assignment in late.”

“That’s great!”

“Every grade matters.” Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets as they began to walk, “No one’s gonna do anything weird, right?”

“Nope.”

As soon as he saw all of Cas’s other friends (who he had, admittedly, met before, but often at parties, not like…this. Not regular.), Dean wanted to shake his best friend. Here they all were, talking, happy, light as feathers. He felt like he weighed a million pounds in his flannel, leather jacket, and roughed-up boots.

“You must be Dean!” A girl with curly brown hair said, jumping up. She was wearing an Amazing Spider-Man t-shirt so Dean decided she was likable enough, “I’ve heard all about you. We’ve heard all about you!”

“Really?” Dean glanced sidelong at Cas, “Didn’t know angel-face over here talked about me outside of our living quarters.”

“Angel-face?” Another girl asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Castiel means ‘angel of Thursday,’” Dean and Cas said at the same time. Cas looked sheepish but Dean grinned as some of the others laughed. “But yeah,” Dean continued, “I’m Dean Winchester. Hi.”

The brown haired girl stuck out her hand, “I’m Meg. We’re glad to have you.”

Weirdly enough, Dean was somewhat glad to be there.

*****

It was nearly midnight when Dean finally got around to his creative writing assignment. His eyes felt like they were crossing from the schematics he had been looking at for his civil engineering design class, and he thought he was going to lose it.

What was he even going to say?

 _My family only has one person_ , he typed.

Huh.

_I guess you could say that I had parents, but they left. When I was fourteen, they split. To be more accurate, my mom vanished into nothingness. My dad spent the next four years hauling us around the Midwest until, the day after I turned eighteen, he decided to leave, too._

Was this too personal? Was this what Dr. Singer wanted?

It didn’t matter. He would finish the stupid assignment and never have to think about it again.

_My brother Sam was ten when our mom left and fourteen when our dad left. I took care of Sam by myself for a year, but I was taking care of him long before that. Our parents weren’t always present or attentive to the fact that children needed things like food and shelter. Or, you know, love. So I did my best. I dropped out of school, took the GED, and raised my brother._

_Now, I’m almost twenty-three (perks of starting college a year late is getting to drink earlier in), and Sam is eighteen-going-on-forty. He’s in his sophomore year of college, he skipped a grade. Really fucking smart. Am I allowed to use “fucking” in an assignment? He’s doing pre-law._

_He’s my family, the whole thing._

_I love him, but I get this rage sometimes, about how I’m going nowhere, I have no direction. But then I get happy that he’s going somewhere, at least. Maybe that’s love. I get nothing and he gets everything—and I’m honestly okay with that. As long as he gets what he deserves—which is the world._

That was enough, Dean decided. He would submit it.

*****

When his assignment was handed back to him on Friday, written at the top was _See me after class_. And so, per the directive, he hesitantly approached the podium, where Dr. Singer was slowly packing up his briefcase.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Come to my office.”

When Dean sat down hesitantly at the chair for guests, Dr. Singer leaned back in his own desk chair and stared at Dean, “I want more.”

“Huh?”

“You wrote something short and sweet, and I let it happen, because I saw _something_. But I want more. There’s more to the story, and you know it.”

“I don’t wanna…” Dean shrugged, “I’m getting along fine.”

“You seem pretty hopeless.”

“You read, like, two paragraphs about my life.”

“Well,” Dr. Singer sighed, “Then write me more paragraphs.”


	4. in which dean and cas go on a road trip, and john winchester sucks as a parent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for discussions of abuse. also sorry for making Mary also kinda not cool but uhhhh yeah

August edged its way into September, and then slowly autumn began to settle in. Dean kept going with Cas to beekeeping club (mostly to make Cas happy), tried not to drink as much beer, and wrote more and more for Dr. Singer.

Every week there was a new request—a new snippet of information his professor wanted to pull out of him.

He wrote about the Impala— _I call her Baby because she’s the most important thing to me. Note that I said thing, and not person. I fixed her up with my own hands, without any help._

The question he had gotten from that one was, “Do you feel like your car is an extension of your father?”

He wrote about why he came to Lighton— _I had to prove that I wasn’t just some dumb lug from Kansas. Maybe I’m still trying to prove that now, seven hours away from home. I dunno._

“Do you think you’re dumb?” Dr. Singer had written at the top of that one.

There were more—about his mom, about her boyfriend, about Sam’s new girlfriend, about what to do after college—but one thing he wouldn’t write about was Cas.

The thing was, Cas was precious. He was like the sun of Dean’s solar system. He didn’t want to parse Cas into phrases, try to meld him into grammar and syntax, because who could? Who would even bother to try? Dean knew he would just mess it up, and besides, he couldn’t write anything about Cas without sounding like he was writing about a lover.

And then, the first week in October, shit hit the fan.

As Dean was leaving class that Friday, Dr. Singer pointed at him.

“Winchester?” He said. Dean nodded and the professor continued, “I want to hear about your guardian angel.”

Dean swept out of the room.

When he got back to his and Cas’s apartment, Cas was nowhere to be seen. Dean wracked his head for where Cas might be— _maybe that planner wouldn’t have been so bad after all—_ and then remembered that next weekend was fall break. Which meant that Cas was probably hanging out with his friends.

Dean briefly considered texting some of the guys from his group for his capstone project (designing a dam) and asking if they wanted to go to a bar or something, but then decided against it. They had their own lives, and Dean had his. He pulled on a sweatshirt (an extra beekeeping one Cas had given him sophomore year, long before he himself had been roped into this nonsense) and went to the fridge to get a beer.

It was only when he checked his phone after an hour and a half of vegging out on the original Star Trek series (Sam had gotten him the DVDs of it for his last birthday) that he realized what, exactly, was wrong.

*****

Dean decided, after reading Sam’s message, that he wasn’t going to leave his room all weekend. His resolve faltered when he heard Cas come in later that night, calling for him, but he simply put in his earbuds, cranked up the Led Zeppelin, and tuned him out.

He vegetated and ate copious amounts of pretzels (he had no shifts at work, having picked up some earlier in the week) until Sunday morning, when there was a pounding on his door.

Dean didn’t answer.

There was more pounding— _Jesus Christ, who was here?_ —followed by coughing, and then Cas saying in a very un-Cas-like manner, “Dean Michael Winchester, if you don’t open this door, I’m gonna—“

Dean scrambled up and pulled open the door. He was promptly greeted with a, “What the fuck, man?” From Cas.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Dean said weakly.

“This isn’t funny, Dean. You can’t just shut yourself up in your room and—“ Cas stopped when Dean shoved his phone, with Sam’s message, in front of his face. Cas looked up at him a moment later, locking eyes with Dean,

“He can’t be back.”

Dean sighed, “But he is.”

“Your….” Cas frowned, “I hesitate to call him your father.”

“Sperm donor?”

“Way to make it weird, Dean.” Cas shouldered past him, taking his phone, and went to sit on Dean’s bed, “Why haven’t you replied?”

“Because what am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, little brother, our dad who literally abandoned us just showed up and wants to have lunch with us and act like nothing’s wrong and see Mom and pretend that we’re one big happy family again, that’s fine with me!”

“Did you lock yourself in your room when your mom came back?”

“No, but I had to look after Sam. I still don’t…” Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, sitting down next to Cas on his bed, “She and her boyfriend Mark have done good things for Sam. But…that doesn’t make up for her leaving us. You know?”

“So your dad wanting to get connected…”

“Doesn’t make up for the fact that he left us, either.” Dean sighed, “I have to go, though, don’t I? I have to…but I can’t. I can’t spend fall break driving home to have the family reunion of nightmares, and then drive back, and…” He punched his pillow, “I just can’t.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Dean’s breath caught, and he turned to look at Cas, “You would?”

“Someone’s gotta. You can’t go by yourself.”

“Cas….you have plans.”

Cas shrugged, “Not really. My plans were….see whatever you had figured out to do.”

“I didn’t exactly figure this out.”

“Road trip?” Cas asked.

Dean groaned in response, “Road trip.”

*****

On Friday, Dean was so perplexed by the state of the _everything_ that he forgot to properly glower at Dr. Singer for asking him to write about “his angel” again (Dean had copped out and written about how he fell in love with science-fiction and how he thought that might relate to escapism. Finally putting that mandatory philosophy class from freshman year to good use).

“You know,” he said to Cas once they were sitting in the Impala, their duffle bags in the backseat, “You can always back out. You don’t have to come see my crazy family.”

Cas shrugged, “You’re my best friend, Dean. It’s the least I can do.”

“You think I need therapy,” Dean muttered, “After this, you’ll need it, too.”

The drive was fairly uneventful, although Dean found that the seven hours to Lebanon, Kansas went by faster since Cas was riding shotgun. He had forced Cas to listen to a lot of classic rock over the years, but he stood by the fact that everything was better on tape. It was also nice to stop at his favorite roadside diner for dinner and introduce Cas to the wonders of their bacon cheeseburgers and apple pie.

“Now this,” Dean said, pointing at the burger, “Is better than sex.”

“Either you’ve had some really bad sex….”

“Or this is a really good burger. It’s the latter, buddy. Although….” Dean grinned, “I have had some pretty bad sex.”

“And boy do I remember.” Cas rolled his eyes, “Remember when you accidentally brought someone to our dorm room freshman year and didn’t realize I was there?”

“That,” Dean nearly choked on his burger, “Was one of the top ten most embarrassing things to happen to me.”

“You think it was embarrassing for you?” But Cas was grinning, too.

Now, though, it was getting on midnight, and Dean strained his eyes looking for the exit signs. About twenty minutes ago, Cas had dropped off, his head drooping onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean had turned the music nearly all the way down. There was something almost idyllic about this moment, driving through rural Kansas with just the stars lighting the way, some low Zeppelin in the background, Cas’s head on his shoulder…he could write about this for—

No.

No way was he sharing this with Dr. Singer.

This was his moment, a Dean-only moment, and there was no passably heterosexual way to describe this.

Speaking of.

There was no way in hell his dad could find out about his feelings for Cas. To be fair, Dean had done a highly effective job of telling no one about his feelings, so really the only liability was him.

It was nearly one am when they finally pulled into his mom and Mark’s driveway. Dean turned off the Impala, yawning, and gently prodded Cas awake, “Hey, sleeping beauty, we’re here.”

Cas blinked at him sleepily, pushing his glasses up his nose and stretching in turn, “This is a big house.”

“Biggest in town. C’mon. I think Sam’s already here—I see his car.”

Sure enough, Dean’s little (although, seeing as Sam sort of towered over Dean, little was maybe the wrong word) brother was sitting in the family room, with the lights dimmed. When he heard Cas and Dean come in, he pulled his brother into a hug.

“Ouch, Sam, you’re crushing me, c’mon!”

“I missed you!” Sam held him at arm’s length, grinning, “How’s your semester been?”

“I am, for the most part, still intact. Would be more intact if this guy’s bees would stop stinging me.” Dean jerked his thumb at Cas.

“Hey!” Cas turned to Sam, “Hi, Sam. It’s nice to see you again.”

Sam lowered his voice to a whisper, “Dad is getting here tomorrow morning.”

“Driving through the night, huh?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Mom is….hm. Not thrilled.”

“And Mark?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Actually….” Sam swallowed uncomfortably, “I need you to run interference. Mark is gonna….propose to Mom this weekend.”

Dean mouth opened in a perfect O, “With Dad here? No, no, no….he can’t do that. That’ll…”

“End in disaster?” Cas supplied.

“Exactly. Angel-face gets it. He does that….any semblance of order we might have is gone.”

“Then you know what we’ve gotta do,” Sam said.

Dean turned to Cas, “You ready to join in on some real Winchester-brothers level debauchery?”

*****

The debauchery didn’t start until the next morning, when the man known as their father arrived.

Dean hadn’t seen or heard from John Winchester in the four or so years since he had left, and he actually rather liked it that way.

Until Sam and Dean were standing face to face with their father in the driveway.

“I see you’ve still got the Impala,” he said, as a way of greeting.

“Yep,” Dean said coldly.

“Sam. You’re…taller.”

Sam nodded once.

“And who’s this?”

“Oh,” Dean said, “This is my roommate, Cas.”

“Roommate?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, “We’re, uh, both in college now, Dad.”

“Both?” John glanced sidelong at Dean, “Never expected that.”

Dean resisted the urge to punch his dad in the stomach, “Let’s go inside.”

Their mother, Mary, was conveniently already in the entryway, and so, while Mark and John were meeting each other, Dean, Sam, and Cas took the opportunity to run upstairs and avoid the situation.

“I can’t believe him,” Dean said, throwing himself on the bed, fuming, “The first thing he does after four years is insult me.”

“It’s because he’s not very nice, Dean,” Cas said placatingly.

“See, Cas has got a good handle on it,” Sam added, “We all know the plan?”

“What if…” Cas sighed, “What if getting into a massive fight doesn’t work?”

“Why wouldn’t it work?”

A shrug from Cas, “I dunno. Haven’t you guys fought before?”

Dean sat up, “Did you miss the part where our parents did almost no parenting?”

Cas didn’t have an answer to that, as Dean knew he wouldn’t. Cas had been lucky (or unlucky) enough to grow up with two well-off and happily married parents. He had an older brother, Gabriel (what was it with his family? Oh yeah—they were religious, something the Winchesters had never really gotten around to) who was a banker or something—well-off in his own right. While Dean wouldn’t give Sam up for the world, it wouldn’t have hurt to have some functioning adults in his life that weren’t….him.

Although to call himself functioning was a bit of a stretch.

By the time the much-awaited (awaited to be over) lunch rolled around, Dean had endured enough awkward conversations to last a lifetime. While his mother had vanished for four years as well, she had returned and knew about Sam and Dean’s college lives. John, on the other hand, knew nothing, and had apparently lost the ability to ask things nicely. Every question felt like it was a spear thrown at Dean.

At least John was somewhat proud of Sam and pre-law. So there was a brief respite.

Lunch went surprisingly well.

Dean knew it was the calm before the storm.

As they were standing up to clean up (or badger Mary into letting them help), Mark said, “I have an announcement to make.”

Dean and Sam locked eyes, and then Sam launched into a tirade, “Mark, that’ll have to wait. I’m a bit pissed off at Dean right now. You think you’re so much better than me because—“

He cut his brother off, “—You wanna talk about thinking you’re better than someone? Well you—“

“Boys, as fascinating as that argument probably is, I have an announcement too, that’s way more important,” John said.

Dean and Sam stopped short, and stared at each other. Cas looked impossibly awkward.

Mark and John stared at each other. They clearly both knew what they were both about to say.

About two seconds later Mary and John started yelling at each other for real, not the half-hearted crap Dean and Sam had been throwing together.

Apparently, since it had been over eight years since John and Mary had seen each other, now was a great time to air all of that dirty laundry. And of course Mark felt compelled to join in, defending their mother and her choices.

“Would you guys just _shut up?”_ Dean said, “Just shut the hell up, all of you?!”

John whirled around towards him, “Don’t talk to me like that, boy. I’m your father.”

“Like hell you are. I’m an adult now, and unlike you, I act like it.”

“That’s it—“ John threw a punch at him, and, since Dean wasn’t expecting it, it landed. He staggered backwards into Cas, and Cas and Sam caught him. The room went deadly quiet.

“Get. Out. Of. My. House.” Mary said, “Get out.”

“You’ll regret this!”

“No,” she said coldly, “I don’t think I will.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, giving Dean’s face a once-over, “You might get a black eye, but nothing looks broken.”

“Could be worse. S’not the only time Dad’s hit me.” Dean swallowed, rubbing his cheek, which throbbed slightly.

“…Wait.” Sam stared at him, “It’s not?”

“Why do you think Dad never yelled at you?” Dean shrugged, “He had already taken it out on me.”

“Dean, that can’t be true, he’s terrible but no monster—“

Mary broke in, “It’s true. It’s why I left.”

“Wait.” Dean turned to her, “You knew?”

“Of course I _knew_. And I couldn’t bear to see it.”

Dean knew his voice was rising, but he didn’t care, “You couldn’t bear to see your husband beating one of your sons, and so instead of taking both of your kids out of harm’s way, you just up and left? We spent four years on the road with Dad, mostly in crappy motel rooms with barely anything to eat, and then he vanished, too.”

“Can you forgive me?” She asked.

“No! I’m done with this sorry excuse for a family.”

And with that, Dean left.


	5. in which dean has a lot of feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for more discussions of abuse. nothing graphic but! thought I would let y'all know!

Well, not exactly.

Instead of actually leaving, Dean threw himself in the Impala and slammed his head against the steering wheel several times.

She had _known._ She had known the monster that their father was and she had still left them with the man. She knew they weren’t old enough to fend for themselves!

There was a click, and Dean looked over to see Sam sliding into the passenger’s side.

“Dean.”

Dean sighed.

“I know you’re upset.”

He said nothing.

“But you’ve got to come back inside.”

Dean hadn’t realized he was crying until he tried to speak, “I don’t—I don’t get how you can stand to come back to this family.”

“I always look to you, Dean. And you always give them a second chance, whether you realize it or not.”

Dean stared, “Only for you. That’s why Dad didn’t….I asked him not to. It wasn’t that he worked it all out on me. It’s that I bargained with him…so he wouldn’t touch you. One of us was gonna get to be happy.”

Sam looked down, “I—Dean. You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I _did_. And it’s done.”

“And maybe it’s time to start living your life for yourself, work through this stuff. You can’t spend forever protecting your baby brother.”

“Why not?”  
  
“Well, for one, I’m taller than you now.”

“Oh, shut up.” But Dean was smiling again.

“So…are you still gonna leave?” Sam asked.

“I have to. I can’t—there’s a lot to process. I’m pretty pissed at Mom right now.”

“I get that. But you, uh, can’t leave without Cas. The poor guy has been helping Mom do the dishes.”

“I don’t deserve him, do I?” Dean flopped his head back on the steering wheel, “He freakin’ volunteered to come with me so I wouldn’t go nuclear.”

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I may or may not have locked myself in my room for a few days when I got your text. And he may or may not have tried to break down my door as a result.”

“He’s a keeper.” Sam was smiling.

“Yeah, well,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “Next year, he’s gonna go off into the world and do something great, and I’ll…I have no idea. Gotta graduate first. But he’ll leave me.”

“Dean.”

“Hm?”

Sam looked at him with a look of almost knowing sadness, “Remember how I said you should start living your own life?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you should start with Cas.”

*****

Dean promised to come home for Christmas, and then, before things could get any more awkward, he hugged everyone goodbye (even his mom and Mark) and left.

With Cas, of course.

The poor guy had been traumatized enough for one weekend.

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, they rode along in relative (read: filled with music) silence, until Cas finally spoke up.

“I’ve always liked Sam.”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty cool twerp.”

“Prolly because of his big brother.” Cas glanced over at him, a smile playing on his lips, “He learned from the best.”

Dean shrugged, “I’m not really the best of anything, you do that. I’m more like a partially functioning human disaster.”

“You’re my favorite human disaster.”

“Thank god the rest of your friends are functioning, otherwise I’d have competition.” But Dean laughed.

When they got back to their apartment, Dean was dead on his feet from spending fourteen of the past twenty-four hours driving, so he goaded Cas into ordering pizza and then they flopped on the couch for a movie marathon—westerns, because Cas felt bad enough about how Dean’s weekend went to let him choose (otherwise, it would have been nature documentaries, and Dean would have lost his mind).

Dean woke up the next morning vaguely confused about where he was. His pillow seemed awfully heavy—

Oh.

It was Cas.

Dean realized with horror that they had fallen asleep on the couch, and that _Cas’s head was now lolling on his chest holy shit._

There was no way in hell he was emotionally prepared for this.

There was also no way he could get up without waking Cas up.

Instead, Dean chose a tact he called: stare at your attractive roommate in a completely platonic way. It’s very normal to focus on his breathing, how his back rises and falls gently, how his dark hair is always _everywhere_. Notice that he hasn’t shaved in a few days—very platonic of you. Wonder if you’d get beard burn from kissing him. Attempt to ignore that thought. Fail to ignore that thought. Lay on the couch in sort-of-agony….

Finally, after thirty minutes, Cas slowly blinked his eyes open. Instead of rolling off of Dean automatically, he propped up his chin with his hands, digging his elbows into Dean’s chest, “Hi.”

Cas’s eyes were _so blue_.

Dean tore himself away from Cas’s gaze, “Hi yourself. Did you know that you sleep like a log?”

“I vividly remember you shouting that at me the second week of freshman year when I overslept for my eight am and you couldn’t get me up.”

“Which merits the question—how do you wake up at five am all the time now?”

“I told you—coffee.” Now Cas rolled off of him, headed to the coffeemaker, and Dean instantly missed the warmth.

A few minutes later, Cas came back with coffee for both of them (these mugs both said “World’s Best Dad,” because if it was ugly, Cas was ten times more likely to want it) and sat down next to a now-upright Dean, “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Full of less homicidal rage.” Dean took a long drink, “I just don’t get it. I don’t understand how she could do that to us. And now I have to….I gotta process it.”

 _I gotta write about it,_ he thought.

“And,” Dean sighed, “I didn’t even have time to think about this, but isn’t it messed up that my father wanted to propose to Mom? Even though they’ve been….separated for eight years? And she’s got a boyfriend?”

“Wait…your parents never formally divorced?”

Dean shook his head, “Nope. Like I told you, Mom just…vanished one day. I got home from school and she wasn’t there. And then she never came back.”

“But she found you guys again?” Cas tilted his head sideways.

“I guess she assumed we wouldn’t stray too far from Lebanon—and she was right. We moved around a bit, living on the road, for the four years Dad took care of us, but once he left…I took us back to where we were from. It seemed like the safest place.”

“I liked what I got to see of it,” Cas said softly, “It seemed…warmer. Cozier. Than where I’m from. Like people actually loved the place.”

“Well,” Dean said, “If we ever go back again, I’ll take you to some of my favorite places, like the Roadhouse. And we can drive by the house I grew up in.”

“Deal.”

(It only occurred to Dean after that conversation that Cas had sounded like he _wanted_ to go back to Kansas. Who in their right mind would want to go back?)

(Obviously Dean wanted to go back eventually, but he also wasn’t in his right mind, so….)


	6. in which dean makes even more bad decisions

“I like this,” Dr. Singer said, “I really do. I feel like you’ve been building really well on the story of your parents. But you know I want more.”

“More of what?” Dean said.

“More of you _now_. All of your stories, you seem….” He waved his had broadly, “Stuck in the past. Like you’re dwelling. Tell me, what’s important in your now?”

Dean shrugged, “I don’t do much. Mostly just work on cars, go to classes,hang out with Cas….”

“Then give me that. Give me who Dean Winchester is, not who he was.”

Dean resisted to roll his eyes in front of his professor.

There were other things on his mind as he traipsed across campus to once again humor Cas by gracing the beekeeping club with his presence, anyways. A lot of graduate schools were reaching their early decision deadlines, which meant that Cas had been in a fervor, writing papers, begging Dean to half-heartedly proofread them. It also meant that Dean was in a decidedly piss-poor mood as he heard his classmates discuss their next steps. It was the start of November, meaning graduation was in six months, and he still had no clue what he was going to do next.

Cas was leaving Lighton, though, that was for sure.

Not that it surprised Dean at all.

Cas had always been too small for this place—he needed to spread his wings and fly. Dean had said that once to Cas last year, when Cas was pre-worrying about grad school, and Cas hadn’t gotten that it was an angel joke.

Cas didn’t always get Dean’s jokes. Occasionally, Dean wasn’t convinced Cas was fully human.

And he couldn’t write about what he did _now_ for Dr. Singer. The fact of the matter was that Dean had neatly cocooned himself in what was comfortable over the past three and a half years, and what was comfortable was the rhythm and routine of class, cars, and Cas. The three Cs. The three things that had folded themselves into Dean’s existence without much effort.

And now it was all gonna go away.

Dean tried to hold onto the days, but that was a futile exercise and eventually it was the week before Thanksgiving break. After spending a vaguely frustrating afternoon tending to the hibernating bees and trying not to think about murdering Cas for coercing him into this, Dean was spread out on the kitchen counter, attempting to study his Discrete Mathematics notes.

Emphasis on “attempting.”

“You know,” Cas said, coming in and shaking off his coat before hanging it by the door, “It’s not gonna make more sense the more you scowl at it.”

“You wanna bet?” Dean took a swig of the beer he was clutching in one hand, “Because I think it’s working.”

“I’m also not sure that alcohol and math should mix.”

Dean shrugged, “Hasn’t let me down yet.” He glanced up at Cas, who was cleaning his glasses on his sweater, “When are you flying home?”

“Friday afternoon….are you sure you’ll be alright while I’m in Albany?”

Dean set down his beer, sighing, “Dude, I’m almost twenty-three. And I always spend Thanksgiving alone. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, it’s just….after what happened with your family, is it a good idea to be….?”

“Alone? Of course it is.”

This was mostly false, of course, because besides Sam, Dean had pointedly ignored all contact from his family since that Saturday in mid-October. He was still processing, he told himself—if by processing, one meant throwing oneself into all aspects of life that weren’t actually what was wrong.

It was a perfect system.

When Cas left on Friday, Dean had (for once) completed all his homework, passed all the quizzes from the week before, and stocked up on groceries. Except for a few shifts at the auto shop, he was ready to essentially pass out on the couch watching Star Trek, Star Wars, and westerns every night for a week.

The first few days went well—he wasn’t late to work, he didn’t get drunk (just pleasantly tipsy), and he even remembered to drive out to campus to check on the bees like Cas had asked him to. The bees were fine, he thought. He wasn’t the bee expert in this roommate-ship, but he was sure that they would be totally fine.

Thanksgiving proper dawned cold and clear, and Dean had full intentions to watch _A New Hope_ for probably the fortieth time in his existence, half-ass roasting a turkey, and just relax. Then, his phone dinged.

The text was good—too good. It read, “ _Happy thanksgiving <3 see you tomorrow!”_

Dean felt his breath catch as he re-read it. Had Cas meant to send this to him, with the heart and everything? Not that he knew if Cas liked anyone—the last time Cas had a crush, it was January of sophomore year, and eventually Dean had instituted a rule that if Cas mentioned Amara Gladstone from his philosophy class again, he was going to kick Cas out.

He decided on a safe, “ _See you soon! :)”_ and went to toss his phone on the coffee table, when it rang. It was Sam.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said, “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” Sam replied, “You holding down the fort alright?”

“Well enough. Cas gets back tomorrow, so it’s not too much longer that I’m alone.”

“He lives in New York, right?”

“Yeah, Albany.”

“Well,” Dean could hear Sam swallow, “I, uh, have something to share with you that you may not like.”

“What’s that?”

“…..Mom has officially filed for divorce……….and her lawyer wants you to speak in court.”

“That’s….” Dean tried to figure out a good way to answer, “That’s great for her. Do I, uh, have to decide today if I’m comfortable with that?”

“I don’t think so….I just didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

“No, I understand. Don’t worry, Sam, I’m not gonna shoot the messenger.”

Dean managed to hold it together for as long as it took to finish the call with Sam. He eeked out a “Love you! Bye!” before he turned to the best way for someone named Dean Winchester to cope with things: forgetting them as much as possible with a little help from his friend whiskey.


	7. in which dean is properly miserable

Dean was wet.

To be more accurate, he was in the bathtub, and so he was warm and wet.

And naked.

And being stared at by—

“Cas!”

Cas pushed his glasses up his nose, “Don’t you yell at me, Dean.”

“Why am I naked in our bathtub? Why are you here?”

“Well, I’m here because I had a flight back already?” Cas looked at Dean like he was nuts.

“I meant here as in the bathroom, dummy.”

Cas frowned, “I’m in the bathroom because you just nearly suffocated in a pile of your own vomit. I came home and you were….incapacitated.”

Dean leaned back, sinking partially beneath the water, “Sounds about right.”

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna drink that much anymore.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t _intend_ to, now did I? It’s been a rough…” Dean shrugged, “It’s been a rough past…what time is it?”

“Noon.”

“It’s been a rough past sixteen hours.” Dean looked mournfully up at Cas, “Sam called. Said my parents are really getting divorced, and Mom wants me to take the stand. To say stuff about my father. But she’s…..ugh.”

“Dean.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Maybe you should, uh, talk to someone about this.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I meant someone who didn’t just peel your puke-covered body off the carpet and dump you in the bathtub.”

“Fair.” Dean was properly miserable now—and naked in front of Cas. Granted, the bathwater helped shield him, but still.

“Dean, how did it get like this?” Cas was sitting on the floor next to the bathtub now, parallel to Dean.

“Like what?”

“Like you….you’re a great person, best I know. But you always sell yourself short, and now you’re…” Cas waved a hand vaguely.

“Angel-face, if I’m the best person you know, you need some new friends, stat.”

“Could you be serious for one second?”

“I have the capacity to be serious!” Dean splashed some of the bath water onto Cas, “See?”

“If I wasn’t so worried about you right now, I would strangle you.” Cas looked partially serious and a bit menacing. Well, as menacing in someone with a penguin sweater on could look.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right.”

*****

One week left of the semester.

One more stupid creative writing assignment, and then exams, and then Dean was _free_. For five blessed weeks, he wouldn’t have to think about school or the future and he could just veg out.

The only thing standing in his way (because, as a senior, all of his exams were projects) was creative writing.

Maybe it was time.

Dean stared at the stubbornly blank document on his laptop.

_To say that I am in love with someone isn’t right._

_Because I’m not just “in love.” I love._

Did that make sense? Dean tilted his head at the screen, and then mentally recognized it as a Cas gesture.

_I didn’t realize that I loved Castiel Devereaux until the end of our first year living together. Since I had spent most of that year trying to find a girlfriend and failing, it was a bit of a shock to my system to look up one day and see my roommate, with a smear of toothpaste on his cheek and his glasses sliding off his nose, and think “Oh shit, I’m in love with him.”_

Jesus. He was going to turn into a sappy loser if he kept writing.

_Over the years, Cas has become my best friend. I think I know him better than myself. Although I also know that I’m not really good enough for him. I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life, or how long I’m gonna make it. Maybe if I was a better person, I’d be worth it, but I feel like poor Cas has found me unconscious on the couch often enough to know that I’m a goner._

Dean kept writing until he had run out of words, until he felt a little bit like he had rubbed his heart raw. He finished with,

_I call Cas “angel-face” or my “guardian angel” as a joke, but it’s true. He’s saved my ass more times than I deserve. Hopefully next year I can make it without him._

*****

Dean was, to put it mildly, shocked when he got his assignment back that Friday (the last week’s assignments had been due on Wednesday) with a glossy “100” in red pen. He quickly flipped through it. There were no marks on it besides the grade, except for, next to the bit about him not being good for Cas, was written, _I wouldn’t be so sure about that._

Dean pondered it all the way home—what exactly could Dr. Singer have meant?

 _I wouldn’t be so sure about that_.

So sure that he wasn’t good enough?

Or so sure that Cas didn’t feel the same way?

Dean had allowed himself to get his hopes all the way up by the time he parked his Impala and took the stairs up to their apartment. Cas wasn’t home, but that was alright. Dean needed some time to sort through all of this. He threw his bag on the counter, putting down the paper next to it, and headed to his bedroom to put on some comfy clothes.

He was taking an almighty piss when his phone rang. Dean stumbled out of the bathroom and grabbed it from off of his bed, “Hey Cas, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be coming in late tonight.”

Dean tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder, using his hands to properly pull back on his sweatpants, “Any special reason?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh….going to a Christmas party. With Meg. For her sorority.”

“That’s—“ Dean felt his stomach plummet to the floor, “That’s great. I, uh, hope you have fun.”

“Dean—“

“Bye, Cas.” Dean threw his phone down on the bed.

So much for that happiness he was feeling.


	8. in which dean and cas finally use their words

Cas came home at about midnight. He sounded alone, and like he was pausing in the kitchen. Dean rolled over in his bed.

He knew he couldn’t ignore Cas forever—and also that Cas had no idea he had done anything wrong. He had to go talk to his best friend, play it cool, be excited about his date. He himself had thought Meg seemed pretty cool, all the times he had hung out with her at beekeeping club. Maybe she and Cas were a good fit.

 _Better fit than me and Cas, anyways_ , Dean thought to himself before half-rolling out of the bed and heading to the kitchen.

Cas was leaning against the counter, wearing a suit (christ, he looked good in a suit). His glasses were, as per usual, halfway down his nose, and he appeared to be reading something with one hand in his hair—

 _Wait_.

“Cas, give me that,” Dean said evenly.

“I’m sorry.” Cas turned to him, his expression inscrutable, “I just saw that it got a perfect score and wanted to see, it was private, I—“

“ _Give me that._ ”

Wordlessly, Cas handed Dean his creative writing paper.

Dean looked him directly in his eyes, his face stony, “I hope your date was fun. Don’t worry, you never have to think about this again. God knows I’ll try not to.” He ripped the paper in half and threw it in the trash before stomping back to his room.

“Dean, wait!”

But he had already slammed the door and thrown himself into bed.

He wasn’t gonna cry.

He was a man. He was gonna be a man about the fact that Cas, who didn’t have the same feelings as him, now knew exactly what sort of feelings he himself had. He was gonna be cool with Cas having a shiny new girlfriend and eventually going off to his shiny new life. And it was gonna be great, and awesome, and cool, and—

Okay, so maybe he _was_ gonna cry.

Cas knocked on his door, but Dean ignored it, and eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. When it was nearly five am, though, he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He had to piss, he wanted a beer (who cared if it was the wee hours of the morning), and he wanted to ship himself to another country. Maybe there was a big enough box in the dumpsters behind their apartment complex.

When he opened his door, he immediately tripped over something and fell flat on his face. He realized about two seconds later that the “something” was actually Cas, who was fast asleep in front of his door.

Well, now that he had been tripped over, he wasn’t fast asleep.

Dean immediately tried to scramble up and lock himself in the bathroom, but before he could get his act together, Cas had extracted himself from under Dean and was now sitting on his legs, preventing him from moving.

“Let me up, Cas.”

“Dean, we need to talk.”

“Can’t you see that I don’t _want_ to talk?!”

“I’ve been sitting here hoping you’d change your mind.”

Dean stared at Cas, “Wait. You mean to tell me you’ve been sitting in front of my door all night?”

Cas nodded, and then stuck out a sheaf of paper to him, “To give you this.”

Dean took the papers.

_Senior Poetry Workshop Portfolio_

_Castiel Devereaux_

_Project Introduction:_

_Perhaps the most well-known works of love poetry throughout time are the sonnets of William Shakespeare_.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course Shakespeare was involved.

_His 154 poems, each containing fourteen lines with a rigid rhyme scheme, were all written to a variety of lovers, the two main ones being a young man and the other being a Dark Lady. Besides being an excellent example of the sonnet form, Shakespeare’s work was also a very early foray into queer literature._

Dean raised an eyebrow. Somehow these facts were never mentioned in his freshman English class.

_Therefore, I have decided to take a page out of Shakespeare’s book and compose my own selection of sonnets to a beloved person in my own life. By exploring the works of Shakespeare and my own sexuality, I hope to better inform our understanding of the bard, and what it means to experience the incredibly human sentiment of love._

“You should at least look at the next page,” Cas said, his voice almost a whisper.

_This collection is for D.M.W._

There was a pregnant silence.

“Dean, are you….are you crying?”

“No,” Dean choked out, “Not at all.”

Cas rolled his eyes, “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Not the time, Cas. I’m having a breakdown!”

“Why?!”

“Because I’m happy, angel-face.”

Cas leaned towards Dean and kissed him, causing Dean to fully collapse to the floor, and then he was kissing Cas back, and then Cas was crying, too…

It was both nothing like and exactly like he had imagined it would be (to be fair, he had always tried not to imagine it too much). Cas was more handsy than he had expected, and his lips were chapped. But none of that mattered, because at the present moment, those hands were pressed against his chest and those lips were touching his.

“Wow,” Dean said when they finally broke apart, “I gotta say, this is probably the weirdest first kiss I’ve ever had….and the best one.” He reached a hand up to ruffle Cas’s hair, “Although you seriously need to brush your teeth.”

“Dean!”

Dean shrugged, “Just saying.”


	9. epilogue

“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to meeeeeee,” Dean sang to himself as he made an omelette.

It was January 24, the first weekend of the spring semester, and somehow he was awake before Cas.

It was also his twenty-third birthday.

Christmas had gone (mostly) well—there had been no arguments, Mark had successfully proposed to his mother, and Dean had agreed, for better or for worse, to take the stand against his father.

Although at the moment all of that was far out of his mind, because he had a surprise for—

“Cas, you’re awake!”

Cas groaned and stumbled to the coffeemaker, “You kept me up too late last night.”

“ _I_ kept you up too late? C’mon, man, that was you. You kept being distracting.” Dean raised an eyebrow suggestively, “We should have figured this stuff out years ago. Could have saved a lot of money getting a one-bedroom apartment.”

“Hm.” Cas, now armed with a mug of coffee (this one had a bear on it), leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder, “Did you make enough for two people, birthday boy?”

“You know it. Hey, can you hand me that envelope on the counter?”

Once he had the envelope, he set down the spatula, “So, I know that it’s my birthday, but I have a surprise for you. I’m considering your reaction to it a gift to me.”

“Better be a good surprise then.”

“Oh, you know it.” Dean smiled, “So, go ahead, open it.”

“Should I read it aloud?”

“Sure.”

Cas cleared his throat dramatically, “Dear Mr. Winchester, We are please to inform you that you have been accepted to Hampton University’s geotechnical engineering master’s program…..” He looked up at Dean, “No way. I mean, way, but also…”

“Look at the address on the letterhead.”

“That’s—that’s the same town as Clifton College.”

“Which, if I’m not mistaken, just so happens to be the place that a certain Castiel Devereaux is getting his master’s in creative writing.”

Cas looked at him, unable to wipe the grin off his face, “Are you saying you wanna keep being roommates?”

“As long as I continue to get all the extra perks of being your boyfriend, too.”

“You know it.” Cas was beaming, and he just seemed like he really needed to be kissed. And Dean loved to be a helpful sort of guy.

(He ended up having to make another omelette.)


End file.
